


Marigolds of the Perennial Existence

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hades and Persephone AU, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: There are few places that he lingers in, but even fewer that he seeks out. The field is simple, but the power of the gods work heavily upon it. It is closely guarded and watched. Nymphs and naiads keep to the river side and play along the grass and water. Enchantments keep bindings strong, and weapons weak.All for the care of Persephone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just adore this AU with Mercykill. I took the original myth and changed it a little bit to better fit the characters.

There are few places that he lingers in, but even fewer that he seeks out. The field is simple, but the power of the gods work heavily upon it. It is closely guarded and watched. Nymphs and naiads keep to the river side and play along the grass and water. Enchantments keep bindings strong, and weapons weak.

All for the care of Persephone.

He moves the darkness to hide his person. Shadows under trees and flower stems let him move deeper into the field. She is not with her company today, but kneels among a blossom of narcissus and cypress. The goddess’s head remains bowed as she holds the petals in between her fingers. Clashing against the calm meadow, pieces of her hair falls against her cheeks. The color of the strands are akin to platinum that lies hidden in the earth. The strands strike outwards in fullness and spikes.

The goddess of life. This is her field.

He comes into the shadow underneath a great fir tree. Every plant grows and flourishes, but there is unhappiness. The nymphs and naiads call to her, but she refuses to go to the river where they can actually play with her.

The goddess digs into the earth. Once the dirt sticks to her fingernails, she opens her palm, before squeezing it tightly. Uncurling her fingers reveals a brown bulb of a plant. Softly, the goddess presses the bulb into the hole, and pats the earth back over it. The softest echoes from her securing the dirt over the unbloomed flower are music. Her fingers still hold dirt, but she brushes it away as she turns to the fir tree.

“Why do you hide yourself?”

The voice of a summer breeze and satin touches the shadowy figure. His presence is unwanted among gods and men alike. To have her question posed curiously, rather then with malice and accusation, is disarming.

Revealing himself, he still remains underneath the fir tree. The shadows linger at his feet, curling to its master. Among the flowers, the goddess takes in his image with new, untouched eyes.

The river is weak to the color of her irises. A deeper blue is fit for the ocean of which Aphrodite herself sprang from. She holds the currents of an overcoming, overwhelming body of life and terror.

“I am not welcomed out of my domain,” he speaks.

She lifts her chin as her gaze lowers and raises against his person. There is still curiosity.

“Come kneel in my field,” she invites.

The god slowly obeys. They who watch her do not know he is here yet. She has many visitors, many protectors. The visit was meant to only be a glimpse, a scarce peek through a frosted window pane, but she is speaking to him now. He finds himself not refusing her.

He takes his place in a richer, darker piece of the field. Close to where she resides, but there is a space of flowers between them. The earth is more familiar to his skin, but it does not touch through his black robes.

“You know who I am,” she says. “But I have never known your presence.”

The god stays silent. Her eyes hold steadily over him. A firm life holds to her cheekbones, resilient and everlasting, but something deeper boils and burns.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks. In the silence of the field, his deeper voice grates against the peace.

She does. Her eyes know.

“Hades, lord of the dead and king of the underworld,” she says. The title does not fall from her tongue like poison and nightfall. It flows like a soft stream upon satin.

He acknowledges her answer, “Persephone.”

“No.”

Her voice stops him, disarming him once again.

That not a word that is spoken directly to him.

“You will not call me Persephone,” she says, bringing a boiling blood to her lips. “I am already the mortal’s Persephone. I am the gods’ Persephone as well. I am not my own, but I am not yours.”

The god stares at the flush to her cheeks. Anger and pride colors her well, aside from her gentle hands.

“Then you will not call me Hades,” he clashes.

The smallest tug of her lips betray a softer interest. Her slender fingers take a few pieces of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear, but it will not stay.

“What will I call you then?”

He has many names. Many titles have been begged on the tongues of souls entering his domain. All drive the power and strength of his crown. His rule is stern and unyielding. His reign is vast and full of many disciples.

But he speaks a name that no one else has breathed upon him.

“Gabriel.”

“Gabriel.” Her voice carries it to finality. The flowers stems touch against her legs and brush against her fingertips.

“What will you have me call you?”

She breathes for a moment. Tilting her head back, exposing the pale skin of her throat as the sun shines upon her cheeks, she blinks slowly.

When she raises her eyelids, she commands, “Angela.”

“Angela.” He tastes it like nectar.

The pleased smile touching her mouth does not fall away as he remains. A natural born calm touches through both gods as the field sways with their words. As close as their embodiments bring them, even clashing terrible, there is unity.

Life and death go hand in hand.

He stays until the presence of another god nears the field A guardian arriving  to see the condition of a prized rose. Her words urge him away. The gods are selfish and afraid, but this goddess is the one thing they all agree upon.

The god of the underworld will visit this field’s flowers again.

*

He has had only glimpses of her before. Persephone. She is as old as the titans, but not of their kind. The elements of her person existed before that of the few reigning gods who keep her confined. A gem among rocks. She is one of the very few who doesn’t punish mortals in response to arguments among her kin. A kind, patient god. She only gives, and watches her work upon the people. She sees the mortals as her children, rather than those who pray and ask for their blessings.

At a rare councils upon Olympus, Hades found a lock of her hair behind Aphrodite, or a shard of her smile hidden on the backside of Ares. They keep her safe, always watched, always protected.

The gods care for only themselves. Persephone, the goddess of life, holds a power above even the other gods. They are afraid of a great monster or curse falling upon her, and thus affecting them. Tucking her away in a beautiful field with nymphs and naiads to wash away the boredom, they keep her within their reach. The divine beings bicker and rage war over petty disagreements, but there is only one thing they are all laced in hands with:

That the goddess of life remains safely shrouded and hidden.

He comes to her again in the field. The shadows keep him away from the other gods’ senses as the goddess roams among the wheat stalks on the far end of the field. The healthy grain brushes against her dress and fingertips. When he appears, the golden hue is a tainted yellow to her pure platinum locks.

“Walk with me, Gabriel,” she commands. He comes to her side, familiar with the fertile ground but not of its fruit.

“Angela,” he says as her hair sways against her shoulder blades. “Why don’t you leave?”

Her hands glide over the very bristly tips of the wheat. The spirits of unhappiness possesses her.

“I do, sometimes. Recently, it was during an eclipse, and once was when the waters flooded the land. The gods always find me. My person is unmistakable.” Her eyes fall to the grains as she speaks. “They beg me to go back to this field and stay. The promises of safety and all that I will ever need are in this field. However, even the gods cannot give a full existence. They surround me and complain and twist my ears and heart until I come back. Satisfaction and peace is only gained when I am here.”

He twists his mouth at such words. Manipulation and deceit are no strangers to the immortal, but they induce flames within his chest.

“You should destroy them.”

Persephone laughs quietly. One of her hands covers her mouth for a moment.

“No. The mortals need their embodiments,” she breathes. “They are misguided, but they are my family.”

Family is no excuse for blind love.

“You love that they trap you here?” he snarls.

What was once laughter on her lips falls to a sadder smile. She stops, twirling her gown of blossoms and renewal of life to face the god of the underworld.

“No, but I am not free outside of here either. The gods always find me, whether on Olympus or the mortal world.”

He curls his fingers into fists. There is a reason the other gods hate his presence, and leave him be to his work over the dead.

“Why do you come to me now, Gabriel?” The name loosens the fire in his center for a moment. “Why now, when I have never seen you this close before?”

He hasn’t seen her this close before either. He knew her name, and her embodiment, but never strayed close enough as the other gods are selfish of their necessities. As if he would ever steal a person away like they have done over and over again to the mortals and their own blood.

“I saw you in the council,” he says.

Demeter turned away for a moment from her duty, and she revealed the goddess in her entirety. A woman of full stature and eyes of creation. Persephone was not looking to him when Hades fell before the sight of her.

Time has grinded down his being and revealed his isolation. The goddess of life has never directly intertwined with his fate until now.  Looking to her, a crown of gold through a sea of black oil, stilled his body for a moment.

No one has affected him as such before.

“You possess a pure beauty.” The words fall from his tongue. Her hair shines as a smile of sorrow comes upon her.

“Do you know purity? In the underworld?” her soft question falls.

“I have never known a woman,” he answers.

Her brow lifts. The grain sways beside her, dancing against her gown as she wonders this. A careful armor stays to her person however.

In the field, she continues her walk. Hades moves to stroll at her side. “I find Hera to be a great warning against marrying an unfaithful husband.”

“Zeus has always been arrogant of himself,” Hades hisses, “Hera is even more foolish to tolerate such things.”

“She is the goddess of marriage.” Persephone muses. “Would that look terrible to her worshippers if she couldn’t contain her own binding contract?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Her cheek turns for a moment as they continue lazily forward.

“I suppose I could never know such a falling, as you do not overextend your reach from underneath the mortal realm.”

Some gods have the luxury of forfeiting their duties until they wish to pick them back up again, but gods like he and her have no room for error. If Persephone let pride ruin her work, many would be unwhole and suffering. If Hades were to allow the smallest room of disobedience in the underworld, the dead would remain unkept and stumbling about as moaning spirits.

They understand their purpose.

“No, I do not,” he says.

A hum leaves her lips. The goddess stops once more. Her gown moves with her as she faces him.

“I did not know someone so wrapped in darkness could be as striking as you.”

He is not of definite beauty as Aphrodite. His person is not adored with white clothes and overwhelming amounts of metal. A black cloak shrouds his person with dark skin. Gold wraps his fingers, and his crown stays in his kingdom. His form takes many shapes, but he holds to a man with dark hair and deep, piercing eyes. There is no mistaking his person once someone enters into his presence.

Is that beauty to her?

He parts his lips, but they both sense a watchful god coming to the field. Persephone touches his arm. The soft brush of grains and light stays upon his skin for a moment.

“Go,” she commands, and he obeys.

*

Hades knows the hatred and isolation of all manners of pain. Understanding fear, anguish, faked love for the ones who watch for imperfections is too easy. Casted away from his family, to where heartache and suffering breeds eternally, is his home. There is no love between gods. There are arrangements and children to be made. There are titles and mistresses and games. There is power in those few who managed to work together. Still, they know tolerance, not care.

He knows the ways of the selfish, fearful gods. It is their persons as much as their embodiment is.

There is no such fear within. He finds himself caring for a need outside of himself and his domain. For the heart of a goddess, who is better than any god in this entire existence, which beats without sin and blindness to others.  

He doesn’t know love, but he knows her.

She places crowns of orchids and lilies upon his head, as if it shouldn’t be black and covered in shards of metal. She smiles, easing away the weight of his work. Laughter touches softly at the corner of her lips, echoing after one of his grumpy remarks. There is hope in her eyes for something beyond and greater then this little field, but there is little light to shine upon it.

She is not a flower, meant to stay among one pretty spot. She is the wind. She is the feathers upon a dove. The goddess of life needs to move and give as it is her center.

Once, among one of his many, shadowy visits, he finds his lips parted with words on his tongue. They fester and blister until she asks him what he yearns to say.

“I respect you,” he speaks the words awkwardly over gravely cords.

Her brow creases at that.

“Oh?”

He curses his inarticulate self. The dead don’t talk this much to him, and he has no practice elsewhere.

“I respect very few,” he tries to explain.

Somehow, the words touch her. Her breath pauses as she leans forward.

“I respect you, too.” She smiles, inches from his person. The honeysuckle on her skin invades his senses. The curve of her lips hold for a moment in thought. Her platinum locks fall over her shoulder. With a careful movement, he reaches for her. The tips of his fingers brush gently against her neck before moving the long, silver curtain back.

Her gaze follows the movement of his hand until he returns it to his lap. The petals of a pink rose overcome her cheeks.

“Very few respect me,” she says. Her dainty fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear as solemness moves over her features. “That means a lot to me, Gabriel.”

Rage boils in his chest at the remembrance of the gods cowardliness. He keeps his anger quiet, however. The pink of her skin is soft today and she smiles gently. Happiness is in her grasp now. He refuses to ruin it with threats and insults.

But there is ambition inside him, growing alongside the lava of wrath. The heaviness to her eyes won’t remain forever. 


	2. Chapter 2

The flowers are her own little home. Petals of all shapes and colors flare at her hands. The water spirits tempt her to the water’s edge, to forget her entrapment but Persephone is not one for disillusion.

She makes the field lively, and takes the colors from Iris’s rainbows to craft the ground. The need to tread carefully comes upon him whenever she asks him to walk with her. There is no fear where she steps. The flowers never snap or wither.

Her questions about the underworld are curious, not fearful. It comes to both their attentions that their roles are different, but intermingled greatly. Persephone watches over life, and can change or alternate it. Hades oversees the dead, and takes them to their rightful places in the afterlife.

“You watch over the souls as I do,” she speaks, holding a single stalk of wheat between her fingers.

“No.” He says. “Not like you.”

He has no love for the mortals. He sees to their final placement, nothing more.

The golden stalk twirls for the moment as she presses her lips together.

“I have asked about you to the other gods,” she starts, earning his narrowed brow. “They have many things to say about you, but I noticed a few constants.”

Silence touches his mouth. Her eyes shine with interest, the smallest bit of playfulness at his dark shadow.

“You are strict and stern in your domain. Prayers and sacrifices don’t sway you. Out of all of the embodiments, I came to the conclusion that yours is the only one that doesn’t fail.”

There are many wars and conflicts in his brothers’ domain. The truth sounds sweet on her tongue however, as very few dare to acknowledge that.

“I can’t let mine fail,” he answers. Leaning forward, he takes the stalk of wheat from her hand gently, turning it in his grasp. It holds like fool’s gold underneath his fingertips. “Just as you can’t let yours.”

An understanding sorrow touches her brow. Her gaze falls to the earth.

“Angela,” he says.

She doesn’t move in the grass they kneel in.

The stalk falls from his hand as he reaches out. Gently, his fingers take her cheek. A blue of her own creation, like the petals of the flowers she shapes, shimmers upon him. Her skin is the velvet bud of a rose. Against his palm, she breathes satin.

“That is the reason the other gods keep me at arms length,” she breathes. ”As if I’m a shrine, but am too holy to have bodies enter my temple.”

He is closer then that. The space between them is only separated by the green and black of the earth. The aching shake of her voice falls against him, bearing the weight of eons and constricted virtues.

A rage and sadness fills his torso, conflicting, burning and freezing, all at once.

“Angela, I will change this for you. If you will let me,” he says.

The disheartened brow upon her face refuses to lift. Her own hand reaches for him, touching his jawline.

“How can you, Gabriel? You cannot be with me always, and the other gods will find me, in Olympus or Earth.”

The rich stone of the ground below, and deep vastness of his domain fills his veins. Persephone holds his face with a soft palm, unwavering.

“You can be free in the underworld.”

The promise moves through her finger tips and into her heart. Settling inside her ribcage, hope dares to blossom on her cheeks and underneath his hand.

“If you take me there, the gods will rage.” She pauses, carefully composing herself. “They will say you kidnapped me.”

Hades brushes a thumb against her cheek. He has ruled without a queen for many eons. There is a loneliness in his domain, lacking another set of hands to gently guide the spirits where they must go. A crown of silver waits in his chambers.

She is a sunlight beyond Apollo’s reach. There is a pureness with her that attracts his embodiment. A humble, gentle goddess. The platinum of her hair awakens his center to longing, to intimacy. A sense of missing something he has never known grows deeper into his chest at her warm touch.

“If you are not afraid, let them rage. I will protect you,” he swears.

The caution of the field seeps into her as she leans into his palm.

“I am only afraid for you,” she speaks, as if he isn’t the god of the dead.

He smiles, encouraging on any force. He has seen the best of gods, demigods and mortals. Their wills are not of his. Their goals were never as bright as her hair.

“There is no fear when I am with you, Angela,” his breath comes swiftly. “Say it, and it will be done.”

Her hand falls from his cheek, cupping the back of his neck as she is close. In a slow motion of roaring waterfalls and crashing waves, the goddess pulls him to her. He obeys, falling against the soft brush of air from her lungs and finding honeysuckle on her neck.

“Ask me,” she whispers against his cheek.

Her nose brushes against the curve of his cheekbone, returning to press her forehead against his. They share a space of light and darkness. A complete sense of isolation, without solitude.

He can exist eons in just her presence.

“Will you allow me to make you my wife?”

The god of the underworld fears, for just a moment, before the goddess of life smiles against his skin.

“Yes.”

*

He does not see her for some time. The test to prepare and wait is upon them, but he does not leave her without comfort. The flowers are her essence, but the earth from which they came are his person. When night falls, and the watchful gods are moving, he springs forth flowers of his own.

Bundles of rubies glow in the morning by the tall pine tree. Patches of emeralds appear like grass to her solitude walk. Gold and silver decorate her path, leading to diamonds mimicking the flow of the river.

He knows when she finds his gifts. Her soft touch taking the riches of his domain settles his person as he works underneath the sunlight and stars.

She leaves pieces of her person to him as well. Traveling through the underworld, roses and orchids will jut out in the highest pieces of the ceiling. He will mine them, holding their already wilting petals between his fingers, imagining her hand. Treasures of lilies and forget-me-nots touch over his throne and personal chambers. They hold a heavenly smell, creating the sense of an open field in the dark rocky confines of his domain.

A marigold fractures rocks. A yellowed edged petal with a deep, red pulsating center. It holds small in the center of his palm, but it will perform mighty works. His touch enhances it. Hades tucks it carefully away in his robes. This gift will be given back to Persephone.

A council is called, one that he must attend. The gods are bickering over the mortals once more, and needing prayers and fastings. On Olympus, the many powerful immortal surge and fight to speak their opinion, but Hades stays back. So long as the dead are not concerned, he will leave matters be.

Hades keeps his gaze disciplined. His sights refuse to stray over to where Hera and Poseidon hide Persephone, even from the other gods. The weight of her sapphire eyes touches him briefly. He knows her look, but he does not react. The god are still kept in their darkness.

When the council is concluded, Hades turns away. The gods begin returning to their places. The urge to look to the goddess of life, as if she holds his center in her hands now, overwhelms the cost and weight of their planning.

Hades spares a moment to take in Persephone’s platinum hair. It falls like a curtain around her throat. She stills under his gaze, as if knowing his sights just as well. Her caution keeps her level. She doesn’t turn to face him, but she waits for him to take in her backside. A small gift, in and of itself. 

He is tempting the fates enough. Hades leaves Olympus, all the more determined.

Nyx taints the world into darkness. When most of the gods sleep, Hades wait for the return of his furies. The three, nightmarish women in charge of torturing damned souls. They are his most loyal personnel. They come back from performing his request during the council, when no other gods were watching.

They do not disappoint him.

*

Persephone awakes in her field. Beside the water, the nymphs and naiads allow her to focus on overlooking life before begging her to swim and play. Her duty is never truly done, but there are moments when life carries on calmly without her intervention.

There is a rush to the wind today. It may be her own reflection, but a restlessness stirs up her center. Glimpsing Hades yesterday fractured her will. The urge to rush into his arms there had almost destroyed them both, but she kept still. The gods know nothing of their freedoms.

Hades has a plan. One that he warned will affect her greatly. The gods can sense her strong presence in most domains, so he must take her power away for but a moment while bringing her to the underworld. Once there, his and her embodiments will stop anyone from coming to take her back.

She is ready. Edging on the fall of impatience, but ready. This field grows smaller with each day that passes without his presence. The little river offers no relief for the thirst plaguing her at moving freely, and existing without peering eyes and overwhelming speeches of manipulation.

Hades holds a world at his fingertips. One that he wants her to explore. She will travel every inch, investigate every corner, at her own will and pace. There, she will breathe without overlooking gods and watchers.

They won’t sway her to stay hidden and still anymore.

She walks through the grass, heading to the wheat stalks on the far end. The grass is cool against the pads of her feet. The ground has yet to wake up. Perhaps Hades sleeps from a long night of labor. Past the pine tree, she strays to her own illusion of peace and solitude. The nymphs and naiads are friendly and well meaning, but are only guardians to an already protected property. Here, she doesn’t have to act, to pretend she is content.

Blades of grass brush against her ankles as she stills. Among the greenery is a single, red and yellow marigold.

One of her gifts to Hades. It should have been left in the underworld for his view, but here it lies. Dirt surrounds the flower stem, separating the green from the bright colors. Fresh, dark earth.

She kneels. Hope bleeds into her lungs, but she refuses to breathe it out just yet. It is his sign, but she does not know of what exactly.

Her fingers encircle the blossom. Grasping it with both hands, magic surges upon her. The black earth shifts as Persephone gasps. A cursed tool to drain her powers, her senses as a god. The flower takes her embodiment, but only for a moment.

The other gods can no longer sense her, can no longer find her.

The ground underneath her begins to shake. It doesn’t slip into her ribcage and rattle her bones. The earth is her only comfort now. No other gods owns it but he. Persephone grips the marigold tightly, even as her weak limbs and heavy shoulders beg her to let go. The shaking gives way to a thundering roar of hooves. On the opposite end of the field, a chariot of ebony and gold emerges from the earth. Driven by four black horses, shaped like smoke and rushing forward as if mad, Hades urges them on.

The god of the underworld comes for her. Assurance settles her soul.

The naiads and nymphs cry out, attempting to surge the river at the chariot, but it rides on. Crashing through the waters, and across the grass and flowers, nothing stops the thunder of Hades’ beasts. His black cloak flares out around his shoulders as his power and strength washes over the mortal realm.

The thunder fills her ears as the chariot comes upon her. Her heartbeat rises only once before he reaches for her. With one arm, Hades swoops down and lifts her into the chariot. Weakness still plagues her immortal form as the marigold resides in her grasp, but Persephone is smiling. His grip around her waist never lets her fall. As he holds her securely to his side, Persephone breathes a laugh against his collarbones.

He spares one glance to the goddess, harboring a soft joy amidst their dangerous move.

With the reins grasped tightly in his hand, he commands the earth. Where the marigold once bloomed, a chasm now opens like a great beast unhinging its jaw. The underworld swallows the chariot and it’s dark horses while the nymphs and naiads cry out.

In a matter of heartbeats and breaths, Persephone and Hades leave behind the cursed field. His arm holds her to him, and her hands cup the marigold.

Persephone has never seen the underworld. It is cavernous, with rivers and lights of souls making their way through judgement. Hades rides swiftly, keeping her steady as her strength still wans. She endures, clutching the flower all the more tighter at the thought of moving as her own person.

The chariot stops at his capital. A home of black rock and diamonds. Swiftly, as the horses of smoke land on the ground, Hades sweeps her into his arms. The strength of his person cradles her carefully. Persephone tilts her head against his collarbone, watching his purposeful jaw as he strides forward.

There is no passiveness within him. She holds no fear of a mask or twisting words taking her logical thoughts. He is not a man of infidelity, or selfishness when it comes to her. He won’t take her hand just to drop it at the sight of a tempting mortal.

He will smile soon, for they are to be married. She already does.

Over the threshold, he holds her tightly as they come to the throne room. A throne of ebony and darkness awaits. New to the space, a platinum throne rests beside it. It waits for her alone. Both metals glimmer and shine with respected but noble power.

The marigold still holds in her grasp. When he ascends the steps, he gently lowers her to her feet, and takes the marigold from her grasp. His dark fingers overlap with hers, and he looks to her. The freedom of the cool air and crystal walls bears on her lips. Without a second thought, he takes the enchanted flower from her hands, returning her strength with a soft gasp. Still, he does not let go of her waist as he places the marigold aside.

“Angela,” he murmurs, returning to her face. “Are you alright?”

“Gabriel,” she answers, as if her shining face isn’t enough. They are without restraint, without risk.

A slow pause comes as his hand takes her cheek. His skin is cool and smooth, and the motion of his thumb brushing her cheekbone is familiar.

“Do you still want this? Me?” he asks, like gemstones erupting from his throat.

Her hand comes to overlap against his. As if she would go this far just to give up the taste of freedom and rubies on his tongue. Curling her fingers around his grip, she parts her lips.

“Will you love me for simple love?” she whispers, trembling and sure all at once.

“I came to you out of a desire I have never felt before.” His words wash over her, sending away any of the doubts of her nightmares and the worries of her soul. “I am not a greedy and hungry god.”

The goddess of life lifts closer. His eyes are as marbled as the black stone, and focused beyond his purpose. He stays with her lips until she finds his breath brushing against her cheek.

“Then I will have you,” she says. Even as his embodiment glitters with gold and jewels, he has never dipped his fingers in what is not his. His duty is his importance, and she trusts that he will treat their contract just the same.

He is slow, but gentle. Holding her as if cradling the marigold, she finds his kiss in their new realm. He moves like the earth being tilled, fresh and revitalizing. A promise of growth and continuation. She already feels her breath seep into a new era of life. There is no isolation, there is no wall. His taste fills her with strength, and holds back any worries threatening to take her.

They only part so he may guide her to her throne. Persephone’s title grows, as does Hades. He takes a crown of leaves and platinum, not of his touch, but of hers, and holds it in his dark grasp. She bows to take it upon her. His hands hold steady as he crowns her, their marriage sealed. Once it settles upon her hair, she raises the metal weight with resolution.

“My queen,” he proclaims, as if she is a prophecy the muses gave. “Angela, my love.”

Her smile cannot be contained as she comes to the ruler of the underworld. Their first kiss only tempts her into more, and he gives it willingly to her joyous tongue.

*

The underworld is her home and ruling. They do not spend their first night in a faraway land, sucking on nectar and dancing on clouds. His chambers are modest and dark. Her chambers. She sees this all with excitement, and a readiness to perform more. The shadow of her duties as queen of the underworld do not smother her candlelight. The fear that Hades had of her being unhappy here, now gives away to comfort.

Intimacy is what they both act upon after so long of secrecy and watchful eyes. She is unafraid, and after eons of existence, he becomes whole within her touch.

They don’t have the sun, but they both know when Apollo rides. Her oceans still crash against him, even as she smiles upon his pillow. There is nothing to stop him from pressing his lips to her cheekbones and eyelashes.

But the grace period of their love ends as Selene finishes dragging the moon across the sky. Demeter discovers her absence first.

They have already braced themselves for the outcry among the gods. The goddess most watchful over Persephone has found the empty field, and the naiads and nymphs weeping. Her worries over Hades brims into her tense fingers and biting cheek, but his reassurance is strong.

It takes the gods only midday to surge into the underworld. All armed and brimming with fury to fight the god of the dead. Stepping into his throne room, the king and queen rise to meet the many reeling and selfish faces of the gods.

She has never felt so secure. Besides him, the strength and will to battle endless nights come upon her. They will defend their love and marriage, even if they must go through the gods themselves.

“Hades,” Zeus calls, anger upon his scarred face, “You have kidnapped our Persephone. Give her back to us.”

The god of the underworld turns to the crowned goddess beside him.

“Do you wish to go back with them?” he stalls over almost saying the name only he uses, but speaks clearly.

The other gods start at what he asks.

“No,” Persephone raises her head, allowing the silver shine of her title to blind them. “I will remain here, with Hades, my husband.”

Demeter stalks forward, past even Zeus as she comes before them. The anger on her brow is undeniable, but a deeper fury burns upon the sight of Persephone in the underworld.

“You do not want this, Persephone.” The goddess unleashes her violent words while throwing a heavy blame to Hades. “This cruel god has tricked you, and you do not know what you want. You can’t be the queen of the underworld, you are the goddess of life. Think of how your choices will affect the rest of us.”

She steps forward, unveiling her own fury with a controlled strike.

“Do not speak of selfish things when you have all sent me away to live in a cage.” Her voice rings like gemstones crashing against each other. Hades’ breath catches at watching her shoulders become rigid with strength. “If you worry about my safety, know that my husband and my domain gives me protection, and I myself am capable of battle and defense.

The gods share stares behind their shields and swords, restlessly shifting at her statements.

“But know this,” she does not give them a moment to stop her, “that field will never be graced by my presence ever again. You all will never attend to me like a shrine or forsaken temple.”

If she were mortal, she would know fluttering lungs and weak limbs, but this proves otherwise. Power of her title, and of the god beside her, fill her royal blood. The other gods are quiet, shamed by her declaration of never returning to their care.

“No,” Demeter seethes, “You have kidnapped the goddess of life, Hades.”

Persephone’s face hardens. She could speak with a thousand voices, over a thousand years, and they would still not hear her. The fear residing in their hearts deafens their ears.

Hades steps to her side, unwavering upon the furious goddess. Their accusations are unable to pierce through his black robes.

“My wife has spoken.” He turns to the rest of the gods. “Leave my domain. You have no strength here.”

Demeter turns upon Zeus and Poseidon, “This has gone far enough. Take her back.”

The older gods come back to stare at the queen and king of the underworld. There is resolution in Hades stare, and Persephone hopes that her gaze is just as determined. Side by side, with matching crowns of precious metal, the two gods remain steadfast.

“Go,” Hades commands, growing with anger. “I will not have you all defile this place anymore.”

Desperation overcomes Demeter as she turns upon their throne. Coming to their feet, Persephone turns from her harsh mouth as Hades steps between them. His arm moves in front of her as she stands away from the advance.

“I will make you come back, Persephone,” the goddess speaks lowly past Hades, earning both their glares. “You will come back to us. We will care for you.”

The earth shakes in Hades anger, but Persephone speaks.

“Leave my home.”

Wrath flickers in her eyes as she turns. The other gods linger, muttering curses and vengeance to Hades, and promising Persephone’s swift return. The rulers of the underworld only release their guard when Hades confirmed them all fleeing back to Olympus.

She holds out her hand. It does not hold empty for a second before Hades is taking her fingers. Quietly, she turns into him.

“I am free of them,” she murmurs. “I am free with you, my love.”

“I will insure this for all eternity,” he presses closer, still lingering with fire. His kiss finds her hair. The platinum locks matches her crown. “Even if I must slay all of Olympus.”

Her head shakes at such a thought, but she moves into his embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

The gods are not forgetful. Too many stories came to be because of their wrath and vengeance. The selfish drive to protect their own powers drive them together in a terrifying unit of ambition. **  
**

In the underworld, Persephone and Hades attend to their duty. Sorting out the dead, and insuring they go to where they rightfully belong, the responsibility becomes shared. Hades has never known another being besides his, much less keeping his domain in order, but she performs it without flaw.

Even with her new title of queen, Persephone keeps careful watch over life. The mortals are thriving, and prayers still find their way to her in the underworld. She travels freely, and comes to know his reign. For two years of the mortals reign, they thrive, and come to know each other closer.

They share the same bed. They rest and drink and eat of the same places. Hades hands are still gentle, and she has not known of any whispers of his falling to another. Likewise, she keeps to him. Whether upon the throne or traveling through the underworld, they do not part. There is light within her, even as she does not see the sun. Hades’ embodiment is not such a burden to his person anymore.

His kiss still touches upon her lips, as if brushing the petals of a marigold across her mouth. The laughter only she can get from his lips is akin to the most wonderful of music.

They are both lifted in each other’s hands.

But the gods are not forgetful.

She feels the change in her center. Mortals are dying rapidly, and they are beginning to flood the underworld. Life is unraveling on the world above. Hades keeps up with the new demand, as he tells her of tales of when the floods and rains killed many like this before. She has felt her center shift in the wave of diseases and plagues, but this is something unknown. Something fearful.

“The gods are doing this to both of us,” she speaks, thinking for the many souls. “Gabriel, I must go see what has been done.”

“They are not foolish enough to kill off an entire body of mortals,” he says, certain. “They need them too much.”

“Gabriel,” she holds his gaze, refusing to let his eyes of fire and black brimstone turn away. “They are dying unjustly. They are insulting my embodiment.”

“Angela, I will kill whoever caused this,” he faces her. The souls are akin to her children, and she worries not of what the gods hope to achieve. “But I cannot come with you, not with so many dead.”

“I will come back to you,” she breathes, determined. “I cannot wait here as they suffer. I must know how to stop this.”

The god of the underworld is fearful as well. Cupping her cheeks, he holds her still for a moment. Her hands come to touch his wrists gently.

“They will take you by force,” he says, certain. His center burns at the thought of being unable to find her, whether on the mortal land or Olympus. The underworld is becoming a flood of the dead, and he fears leaving for a moment will insure chaos.

“I will return, or you will come for me.” Her gentle grip turns firm. “It will all end up alright. Trust me, Gabriel.”

Her strength is almost unmatched, but she will not cause harm unless she absolutely must. The will to not harm unless necessary could very well be the cause of her downfall.

But he must trust in her. She never kept him from his duties. He can’t forsake her choice.

“Angela,” he breathes, touching his forehead to hers. She is still as warm as the day he first saw her in Olympus. “Do not part until I have you given you some protection.”

She begins to protest, her thoughts focused on armor or weapons, but his hands drop from her face to gather her fingers in his. Taking her through his home, they come to one of the passageways before the many rivers. Alongside the black, rushing water, fruits and dark plants grow. She knows them, and has attempted to grow her own glorious pinks and yellows, but the dark soil refuses.

Hades leads her to a twisted, gnarled tree. Dark husks hang on its branches like omens. Carefully, he takes one, and breaks it with his strong hands. Deep maroon greets Persephone as he takes a seed from the pomegranate.

“If you eat one seed, it will trap you in the underworld for one month out of the entire year,” Hades doesn’t let her take it yet. “I don’t want to take away your choice, Angela, but if the gods do take you, and I can’t find you again, this will insure your eventual return.”

Her gaze holds tightly over the bleeding red fruit, before she looks back to him.

“What if I eat six seeds?”

The question stills him for a moment. “You will be trapped here for six months out of the entire year.”

Her fingers takes the seed from his grasp. Biting on it, she shivers at the sweetly tart taste spreads across her tongue. Her shoulders hold firm as she takes five more seeds, and eats them one by one.

The slightest taint of red colors her lips when she speaks, “I will return.”

Hades has never known love. Loyalty is a foreign concept to the gods and trust is but an illusion, but he knows her.

His kingdom is hers, without division, without restraint. His queen. The bed he no longer sleeps in alone is warmed by her own light.

He finds her pomegranate stained lips, and kisses the sweetly tart stain.

*

The gods bickering feuds have always split over the mortals. Rarely do they ever have a direct hand in causing such fury to be rain down upon them.

This is a different kind of madness. A center twisting hatred that has come to slowly boil over. The mortals are crying out her name. Persephone walks among them, witnessing the mass massacre.

Her heart breaks. The wish of Hades at her side, bearing such a violent image with her comes presently to her chest, but she continues on.

Layers of ice and snow chill the human’s bones. There is no wheat, there is no warmth or flowers. The fields are deserted. The two years she has spent with her love has been only a time of desolation for the souls upon the mortal plane. Her walk among the many sick and dying mortals steals her breath. As she finds that the summer sun, and harvest have all fled, she begins healing those that she can.

They do not know her as their goddess in her mortal disguise, but they embrace her kindness. She makes food appear, and gives as many loaves of bread as there are hungry mouths. There is not enough time or strength to bury their dead. Those souls already flood her husband’s domain.

It does not take long for the gods to sense her upon the mortal world.

Demeter and Zeus come to her as she leaves the city’s walls. There are less cries and pleads tonight, but it is not enough to satisfy Persephone’s empty chest.

“Persephone,” Demeter calls, relieved and overjoyed. She does not look to the goddess. Never has she been one to lash out, nor has she ever striked someone down, but she knows this is her doing.

“You would so easily keep the harvest and grass away, and let your worshipers die?” she asks lowly.

“I knew this would bring you back,” she still bears a tearful smile. “Zeus wanted me to stop too, but this is all worth it to have you back home.”

Persephone turns to the goddess. Were it not for the mortal disguise she keeps, she would take on her embodiment completely and thrash the ground where she stands.

“My home is beneath our feet, where Hades, my husband, works to keep the underworld from dissolving into chaos at the excess amount of souls falling into its depths.” Persephone holds a fiery gaze, as if reflecting the light of the underworld from inside herself.

“He kidnapped you, Persephone,” Demeter says, now losing her happy demeanor. “He tricked you. Let go of that dark god. We will keep you safe.”

“The only thing you wish to keep safe is the guarantee of your immortality.” she snaps. Zeus stands by silently, unable to say a word between the two goddesses. “Cease this drought and famine, or you will have no one to pray to you.”

Persephone turns, shedding her mortal cloak and begins to open the earth. The paths to the underworld are few, but as the queen, she knows how to get back.

“Persephone,” Demeter snaps, grabbing her arm before she can descend. The goddess of life breaks free from her grip, turning on the other. “So long as you are in the underworld, I will never allow my harvest to grow.”

Her blonde hair falls against her face. The unmoving mask, and Zeus’s own fearful expression tells the blatant true. Demeter refuses to let her go.

But Persephone refuses to leave her husband.

“You speak of wanting to protect me, but unless I am under your cage and eyes, you threaten my very existence?”

“Stay, Persephone,” she repeats lowly.

The goddess looks to the hole, leading to her home. The souls here beg and pray for her. The crops are gone, their hope is dwindling. Demeter will not be swayed by any god.

They need her, just as he does.

“I have eaten six pomegranate seeds from Hades’ garden,” she begins. Fury douses Demeter in curses and swears upon the god of the underworld, while Zeus only becomes still. “I will stay above the underworld for the other six months, but if I am restrained or watched upon, I will eat another seed.”

“Then I will take away their harvest the moment you go to that wretched god.”

Persephone lifts her chin at the devastating promise. If the mortals can hold on for this long, six months of cold will not destroy them all.

Demeter’s unyielding fury boils upon her skin, but she contains herself enough to hiss at Persephone’s agreement. The head god watches her disappear. Hopefully, to bring back the harvest and food for the mortals.

“You are being foolish,” Zeus speaks for the first time. “You are too important to us.”

“I know what I am and I will not be chastised by you,” her anger snaps. “Hades knows my importance as well, but he does not lock me away like a prized animal.”

Zeus does not waver as Persephone looks upon him. There is still anger at being forced away from Hades, but the mortals will survive.

“Hades’ love will change.”

The words he speaks sounds like a promise, as if he truly knows his brother.

“My husband has only known me,” Persephone says icily. “Hera cannot say the same about you.”

The heavens thunder, but lightning does not strike. The god of the sky leaves without another word to the goddess of life.

Left in silence, Persephone adorns her mortal mask once more. She lingers over the hole in the ground, and the easy pathway to their throne room. They both cannot spare their duty to console each other. Sorrow fills her center at parting from him much longer then she promised, but he must hold on to the seeds she consumed. Six months will pass by, and the mortals will thrive once more.

They must both be patient.

*

Slowly, the biting ice melts. Apollo’s race across the sky warms the grass and earth. The once, deadly edge to life fades away as the mortal’s prayers to the gods are answered. Persephone is steady, no longer fretting over the souls. The gods keep their word, leaving her be to to travel freely and not watch her movements. Demeter’s anger still lurks close by, like the shadows after the sun, but the harvest returns. The mortals no longer starve or beg for warmth. Hot bread keeps their bellies.

Persephone helps those that she can. After staying confined to a field, and only journeying to Olympus on rare occasions, the mortal world is vast and beautiful. She only wishes to walk the paved streets with Hades on her arm.

A few tremors shake the dirt after she failed to return. She stopped the masses from dying, but Hades work still continues on. She only hopes he doesn’t worry too much. Artemis tells her of the furies appearing in Olympus, and searching the mortal realm. Zeus informed Hades of the arrangement that was struck between herself and Demeter, but it does not lessen its effects.

Six months passes by. Demeter only spares her a heavy stare when she descends into the earth. Her faith in the mortals being prepared for the cold and fruitless months keeps with them on the ground.

He knows the queen has returned, and he waits impatiently. The selfish gods want to keep his wife, but they don’t know her as he. She refuses to be contained anymore.

He would rather destroy Demeter, but lacking a goddess of the harvest would overwhelm his gates. Persephone is against such violence as well. So, he keeps until she returns.

Her footsteps echo in the throne room. He rises, and meets her in a steady rush. The embrace of her arms weigh down his shoulders, but he could bear it for an eternity. Honeysuckle and mercy drench her hair with remembrance of their close nights together.

“Angela,” he breathes against her cheek, before finding her lips. The pink texture of her kiss still grips his chest tightly.

“I’ve returned, Gabriel,” she says. She presents him with a marigold. Gently, she wraps his dark fingers around the yellow and red blossom, and cups them both.

“I will always return to you” she speaks. Satin fills him with tenderness.

His mouth gently touches upon her cheek. Slowly, her skin guides him back to her lips. Again and again, he tastes her flowers. A wholeness comes over her.

There are many things they must make up for.

*

Every time the moment arrives, he wants to sweep her away and keep her in his arms. Her touch reassures him of her swift return, that the next six months will seem like blinks in one’s eyes. He doesn’t believe her, but he kisses her fingertips last as she ascends to the mortal realm.

The underworld is not complete without its queen, but the mortals rejoice at her return. Yet, they hold no equal to his affection when Persephone descends once again to be at his side.

They do not know love as he does.

Her personification still holds, but the mortals prayers begin changing. It does not shape her differently, but she becomes what they need to thrive and laugh.

“They are calling me the goddess of spring now,” she says as they sort spirits. “Much time has passed since I’ve received prayers for my true purpose. They are forgetting my nature.”

“Remind them,” he says, “Have them build you a temple.”

“No,” she smiles at his quick solution, “I enjoy being the goddess of spring. I do not want them to worship me out of fear.”

“They worship you out of fear of me,” he says, gently taking her hand.

“Not always, my love,” she speaks gently. “They long for my warmth and growth, but it is meaningless without your essence. Life is just as good at the beginning, no?”

The beginning of a small field and a marigold with a goddess of platinum hair has brought him this. He can hardly dare to disagree.

“Yes.” He kisses her knuckles, then adds, “Existence is good with you, Angela.”

Her bashful blush doesn’t stall her quick motion forward. A soft peck of her lips finds the corner of his mouth. Lifting away, they both focus on their ruling, caring for the souls.


End file.
